


What the Night Takes

by Camellia Cook (thekurosakiconundrum)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy and Sacrilege, Bottom Kylo Ren, Cop Hux, Demons, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Huxloween, Lilith - Freeform, Lust Spell, M/M, Rimming, Ritual Sex, Top Armitage Hux, black magic, spell gone wrong, witch Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekurosakiconundrum/pseuds/Camellia%20Cook
Summary: When Kylo's attempt to cast a very powerful, very dark spell goes awry, he accidentally calls up more than he bargained for: an ancient demoness of overwhelming supernatural power. She'll grant him the strength he's looking for, but only at a price.When Hux goes to investigate reports of a citizen in distress, he finds more than he expected: a naked, lust-crazed, half-possessed witch begging for his touch. He doesn't believe in magic, but this guy says he's going to die if Hux doesn't give him what he needs.





	1. Night Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Some just-in-case warnings and clarifications:  
> -The dub-con comes in from the situation itself, rather than any unwillingness. Both parties have a good time, though Kylo isn't entirely in his right mind.  
> -There's some relatively brief sexually charged interaction between Kylo and the OFC demon he calls up. (Not entirely an OC, but an original interpretation.)  
> -Implied animal sacrifice.
> 
> Thanks to armoredsuperheavy for the beta! <3

Kylo dipped his brush in his dwindling supply of viscous, half dried ink, then scraped his brush against the side of his small silver bowl to make sure he didn’t waste a single drop. The mixture fairly crackled with power, tied to Kylo’s body and spirit, the sympathetic resonance vibrating along his skin, raising the hairs on his arms.  With the greatest of care, he touched the brush to the concrete basement floor, writing out the last few characters—the Phoenician L-Y-L, _ layl, _ the night—along the inside of his massive, intricately complex circle in a mixture of freshly slaughtered goat’s blood, his own semen, and the last of his father’s ashes. 

All that was left, now, was to step inside and close the circle behind him. Kylo hesitated, caught on the threshold—this spell was dangerous. It was one of the most powerful he’d ever attempted alone, and it was certainly the darkest. It wasn’t too late, he thought, he could still back out.

Except he couldn’t. He needed this, needed the power it would bring him. Without it, there was no way he could oppose Snoke. His former master would cut him down like wheat before the scythe, and then there would be no one to stand between that monster and Kylo’s city. His family would try; Mom and Uncle Luke would do their best, burning bright and pure like Skywalkers were supposed to right up until those flames guttered and died, snuffed out by the vast, freezing darkness of Snoke’s power. The best he could hope for Rey is that she would die with them, rather than finally tip over the line she walked so well, perverting herself beyond recognition in her desperation to oppose him.

He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for anyone. So, he stepped into the circle, bowl of ink in hand, and closed it around himself with a flick of his brush and a small flare of his power. 

The circle was built around a north-oriented seven pointed star, and Kylo had already placed three candles at each of its points—two red and one black, or two black and one red, depending on orientation. He lit them all at once, the small, familiar magick feeling strange and significant inside the circle, which was already humming with energy just from the magick he’d infused into the ink with which he’d constructed it, and from the configuration of the circle itself.

In the center of the septagram, there was another, smaller circle, this one shimmering and barely visible, as it was drawn in holy oil tainted with the blood of a sinner—Kylo’s own, in fact. He stepped inside and knelt, facing southward, a counterbalance to the circle’s direction. In front of him, just inside the circle, was a red candle, for fire, to his right, jasmine-scented incense, for the night air. To his left, a cup of seawater he’d driven the twelve hours out to the coast to get, and behind him, a bowl of grave dirt, to anchor the spell to the earth and to death. 

Kylo dipped the fingers of his left hand into the bowl of ink he’d brought in with him and touched them to his forehead, dragging them down over his nose, his mouth, his chin and neck. When the ink ran dry, he dipped them in again, and extended the line down the center of his naked body, over his heart, his belly-button, all the way down to the root of his cock. With his clean right hand, he dipped his fingers into the tainted holy oil and dabbed some on his eyelids, his temples, his ears, and his lips, so that he might see, hear, understand, and speak with what he was about to call up.

He would summon the night itself, the darkness that Snoke had taught him to serve, and he would ask it for power, and he would pay whatever price it asked.

He took up his grandfather’s athame, the one with the ruby-jeweled hilt that he’d used later in life, and held his left hand out over the flickering candle in front of him.

_ “Tueal li, layla, alzalam aldhy yastahlik kula shay', alzalam wara' dayirat alnaar alati tuhafiz ealaa salamtana,” _ Kylo intoned as he slashed the edge of the blade along this palm, spilling his blood over the candle, snuffing it.  _  “Umiy, allaylat, 'adeuk. Qatili, fi allaylat, 'astadieuk. Nafsi, fi allayl, 'asbahat 'anta. Asnae li, laylana, sa'akhdamika. Amlanay binafsik wasa'antami ‘iilyk. Layla, layla, layla.” _

He needed this. He was desperate for this power, and he let that desperation fill him, his fear, his hate… his greed. His complicated, painful feelings for his family and his love for his city, his feeling of possessiveness—he needed to protect them because they were his. He let it all well up until he was shaking with it, emotion and magick mixing heady beneath his skin until he felt swollen up with it, full to bursting, the tension on his skin too much to bear. He repeated the chant again, and then again, his voice growing shaky and strained with unspent power until the final  _ layla, _ when he let it explode out of him, raw magick bursting out of his skin to shake the room, the house rattling on its foundations as every candle in the circle went out. 

The room was utterly dark, except for the faint flickers of eldritch flame running along the border of the outer circle. It was silent except for Kylo’s ragged breathing. 

Then, “Hello, Kylo Ren.”

The voice was feminine, a smooth alto. As soon as she spoke, her presence rolled over Kylo, so heavy that it would have staggered him were he not already kneeling. It was thick and warm and humid, like being wrapped in a thousand layers of wet velvet. He could barely breathe.

Soft footsteps—her feet must be bare—echoed in his ears as she came closer. When she spoke, it sounded like she was just in front of him, crouched on the other side of the circle, her face inches from his. 

Her breath smelled like decay, sickly sweet like overripe fruit that would burst and turn to liquid when you touched it. That soft, inviting voice asked him, “Why have you called me here, my child?” 

Half-suffocating under the weight of her presence, her power, Kylo choked out, “I want to make a deal. I need power.”

She laughed, low and indulgent, the sound of it rippling over his skin like warm fur, like something large and living and deadly was writhing against him. He couldn’t decide if the sensation was erotic or terrifying. “A deal? Oh, my dear. You think I’m some petty soul-stealer who would answer to anyone who calls? You think to summon me up at a crossroads? No, no. I don’t deal. You may offer your fealty to me, and perhaps I’ll bestow my blessings on you.”

“I’ve already sworn myself to the Dark,” Kylo managed, the words coming out more bitterly than he’d intended.

“Silly, conflicted child,” the apparition purred. “You’ve sworn yourself to an abstract concept. As oaths go, it’s close to meaningless. I’m asking you to swear yourself to  _ me. _ Become my servant in truth.”

Kylo didn’t understand. He’d thought that oath meant something real, and he’d thought he’d be calling up a small part of that abstract concept tonight. Instead he had this… what was she? This demon? This goddess? “Who… who are you?” 

She laughed again, and it felt just as disconcerting as before. “You called me here, and you don’t even know my name? But you said it so sweetly.”

He said her… “Layla?”

The name—not a word, he knew now, but a name—didn’t mean much to him, other than being an Eric Clapton song.

“Yes, pet. That’s me. But in your part of the world, most people know me as Lilith.” 

Kylo’s mouth fell open in surprise, but he didn’t doubt her word for a second, the wisdom of retrospect descending on him all at once. He should have known, should have realized. The common root, the L-Y-L, the inclusion of grave dirt and semen as spell ingredients. The spell balance along the north-south axis, fire and earth, heat and passion and the long cold sleep. He was an idiot. He’d fucked up real good—Lilith was too old, too uncontrollable. She could kill him as easily as breathing, circle or no. The mother of all demons. No wonder her presence was so hard to handle. 

The mother of all demons, who had come when he’d called. He certainly hadn’t compelled her, there was no one living strong enough for that, not even Snoke. She was here because she wanted to be here.

“What would you have of me…” Kylo didn’t know how to address her. He thought back to the incantation—Mother Night, he had called her. “Mother?”

“I’m not your mother yet, my sweet boy. Would you like me to be?”

“Uh… Yes?” Kylo ventured, not wanting to anger her. He thought of his own mother, how appalled she would be by this. It didn’t matter.

“Then let me in. Take down your circle.” Her voice was hypnotic. It would be ridiculous for him not to take the circle down. 

He leaned forward and dragged his fingers through the line of tainted oil, breaking the inner circle.

As soon as he did so, her strong hands were around his shoulders, pulling him to kneel upright and pressing herself flush up against him. 

Her breasts were incredibly soft, and he could feel the damp heat of her cunt where his cock, suddenly stirring, nestled against the hair between her legs. She smelled like the damp earth and decay, welcome to the weary; like sex and jasmine and the jungle at night, and it sent him reeling, shaking in her embrace.

He wanted her. God, he wanted her, his body crying out for her, skin-hungry and suddenly desperately aroused despite the wrongness of all of this, despite the visceral, hair-raising awareness of his mortal danger.

She laughed softly, and it made him shudder.

“Now, are you ready to give yourself to me?”

“Yes, Lilith,” he breathed, awestruck and wanting.

“I will call upon you, from time to time, and you will do my bidding, do you agree?”

“Yes, Lilith.”

“In return, I will give you some of myself. I’ll bury some of my darkness inside you, where you can draw on my power. It will make you stronger.”

_ Inside him. _ Yes, he wants that.  _ Stronger. _ He wants that too.

“You’ll need more energy than you have to incorporate it, but I’ll give you the means to obtain it,” she promised, then added, “My vessel.”

“Fine,” Kylo said, too lost in the feeling of her hips under his hands to really know what he was saying. “Fine, just—”

“Then kiss me, and seal the deal,” she whispered.

He leaned forward, trying to find her mouth in the utter darkness and succeeding on the first try. He slotted his mouth over hers, this demon goddess, this perfect night creature. Her lips were soft and full, like the idea of a kiss, the fantasy that reality never quite lived up to. She tasted like sweetness and death but he loved it, he wanted more, he wanted to have her, to fuck her, to be fucked by her—

She pulled away, and he tried to chase her mouth but she stopped him with a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you soon, Kylo.”

And then she was gone.

Kylo blinked, his head suddenly clear.  What the fuck had that just been about? What had he agreed to? He’d fucked up  _ again _ —always know what you were agreeing to, that was the first rule of making deals with supernatural entities. But damn _ , _ it had been hard to think with her around. Impossible even, her presence calling to some deep-seated parts of him, as if she’d reached directly into his hind-brain and pressed her strong, slender fingers directly onto the centers for lust and fear.

He waved a hand to re-light the candles so he could see, feeling a bit numb as he always did in the aftermath of big spells or terrible decisions. He had a feeling this was going to turn out to be both.

And then it hit him. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, trying to pant through the sudden, crushing wave of arousal, like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was like he’d gone from nothing to the kind of desperation of one only got after being edged for hours. He needed to come and he needed it _ right now _ —oh fuck, it hurt—

His hand flew to his cock, right there in the middle of his used-up circle, and he cried out at how good it felt, at the electric pleasure that numbed his mind, filled his spirit. It wasn’t enough, he needed more—

The sole shaking arm holding him up gave out, and he ended up with his face pressed into the concrete floor of his basement workroom, shuddering as the position exposed his ass to the chilly air. 

He could feel it, then, the seed of darkness Lilith had planted inside him. He could feel it unfurling, uncoiling, tendrils of power expanding to fill him and he moaned aloud, half in lust and half in terror. It was going to take him over, he would be her creature in truth, her vessel, and all he could focus on was how badly he wanted someone, anyone—anyone with a cock, anyway—to come up behind him and stick it inside him, fuck him until he bled.

That writhing power inside him felt empty, painfully empty, like the vast darkness of the desert at night that blended into the space between the stars and left you hanging there, suspended in the void, the only living creature in the universe. He couldn’t decide if it was hot or cold, but it burned. Oh gods and goddesses it burned... He needed something, anything to soothe it; something to fill that aching, horrible emptiness.

He fumbled for his tainted oil, almost spilling it as he dipped his hand in and then reached behind himself, letting out a little gasping shriek that sounded broken and unnatural even to his own ears as he shoved two fingers inside himself. So good, too much, it hurt—it wasn’t nearly enough.

It never could be enough.

He was so fucked—fucked because he wasn’t going to get fucked, he thought, laughing deliriously at his own stupid joke. In a last moment of clarity, he realized that he was going to die like this, with his hand around his aching cock and his fingers up his ass in the middle of his thrice-damned circle. Whatever Lilith had done to him, he didn’t think he could resolve it on his own. This was something more than just a lust spell, he needed—something, energy, warmth, life—he wasl a vessel, and he would die from not being filled.

Unable to help himself, he squeezed his cock a little tighter and forced a third finger into himself, driving them in deep and curling, moaning long and low and loud because that felt fucking incredible, it was always good but— _ fuck. _

And with that, Kylo was lost, conscious thought slipping away as he chased his own pleasure, his mind unravelling, his soul going soft and open as Lilith’s slick, invading darkness expanded and expanded, consuming him piece by piece and leaving nothing but wet, aching need.


	2. Night Shift

“Any available units near 121 Cypress Street, please respond to reports of a person in distress in apartment B. Possible medical emergency,” the radio told him, Unamo’s voice crackling unenthusiastically.

Hux sighed and put out his cigarette, picking up the mic and pressing the button to transmit. “This is Detective Sergeant Hux. I’ll check it out; I’m about two minutes away.”

Thank fuck this stupid shift was almost over. Playing patrolman was far below Hux’s pay grade, but here he was, filling in for Officer Peavey, who, like nearly half the precinct, was off sick with a virulent stomach flu. That was also why he was out here alone, without a partner. It was against regulations, but they were so short-staffed tonight—on a full moon, of all nights—that Captain Krennic had told them to bend the rules a bit.

And now, he was off to go check on some old fart who’d fallen and broken a hip on his way to get a midnight snack, in all likelihood. Hux scowled. He was meant to work in Major Crimes, for Christ’s sake.

“Understood,” the radio replied after a second, “The nearest ambulance is still fifteen minutes out—when you get there, please advise if medical assistance is necessary.”

Right then. Off to investigate this unknown person in some sort of vague distress. Maybe, he thought, aware he ought not hope for it but hoping nonetheless, it would be something interesting. It had been pretty quiet on his beat tonight—a minor drug deal, barely worth his time, a couple idiots drunk in public, and one moderately spectacular instance of reckless driving that left Hux feeling vaguely disappointed when the driver pulled over immediately. 

When he arrived at 121 Cypress Street, Hux peered at the house in question—the lights were on in apartment A, but not apartment B. Was anyone even home? Well, no way to know but to knock.

Hux walked up to the porch, past the display of potted plants that he supposed he might find impressive, were he into that kind of thing, and opened the screen door.. He knocked hard on the inner door and called, “Sir or Ma’am? This is the police. Are you in there?” 

No response.

He knocked again, louder, and shouted the same question, listening hard for any response. This time, he heard a faint, garbled groan—a man, he thought, and definitely in some sort of distress.

“Sir? Can you come to the door?”

No response. Now Hux was curious. What was going on in there?

Well, the clear sounds of distress were enough to grant him entry. He unclipped his radio from his belt and spoke into it, “This is Hux, at 121B Cypress. There’s no response, but I head a clear sound of distress. I’m going to attempt to gain entry.”

“Understood, Detective Hux. Be advised, all other units are currently otherwise occupied. I’ll send backup as soon as possible.”

Great, okay. He was on his own. Well, that was fine. He looked at the door, finding it unusually sturdy. Hux wasn’t in the habit of breaking down doors if he didn’t have to. He wondered if there was a spare key under one of these potted plants—perhaps that one, there, with the purple flowers and red berries? It was in the back, sort of unobtrusive, exactly the right spot to hide a key. 

It wasn’t under there, but it was under the next one he checked, one with fuzzy, oval leaves. 

He unlocked the door, opened it and stepped inside, clicking on his flashlight and calling out, “Sir? Where are you?”

The guy definitely responded this time, a slurred moan that could have been “Who’s there?” and could have been a wordless sound of, what, pain? Somehow, that didn’t entirely fit. Hux had heard more than the usual number of sounds of pain in his life, even for an officer of the law, and that didn’t really sound like any of them. 

The hair on his arms was standing up as he made for the source of the sound, and he chided himself for considering reaching for his gun. It was only a noise, even if it did sound somehow wrong. He was simply jumpy because he was alone.

He got to the kitchen and called out again, and this time the the response was clearer: a breathless, wet “help me,” coming from beyond a door that was—goddammit—most likely the basement. Fucking of course it was. 

“Are you alone?” Hux shouted through the door, “Are you in danger?”

The only response a long, broken-sounding laugh, the echo through the stairwell making it sound somehow doubled, as if the guy had two voices, one higher than the other. 

Well, alright, that was creepy as hell, but it was clearly just an artifact of an old house’s strange acoustics. There was nothing else for it but to go down. Hux gave in to temptation and drew his gun, just in case—he’d been at this long enough to know to trust his instincts. There was something not quite normal about this. He opened the door and swept his flashlight over the stairs—they were the open kind, just horizontal planks of wood, the vertical spaces empty to the room below, just like the ones that had terrified him in his long-ago childhood home.

“I’m coming down now, sir,” Hux warned, and began to make his way down the stairs, gun up in a one-handed grip and flashlight hand crossed under it. His breath came too quickly; he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to reach up from the dark and grab his ankle. There was a little light in the room below him, soft and flickering, but not enough to see by from this distance.

The stairs ended just a few feet from the wall, the rest of the room directly under the kitchen, so that Hux would have to turn and walk around them to see what awaited him down here.

“Sir?” he called, hesitating at the bottom, suddenly hating the idea of turning, of looking behind him. Something felt wrong, some subtle stimulus his conscious mind couldn’t quite process but his back-brain knew was not as it should be. He didn’t want to see whatever was over there.

Hux forced himself to turn, walking around the stairs and looking into the room.

“What the _ fuck, _ ” he breathed. Jesus,  _ Jesus, _ what was this—he couldn’t even make sense of the scene in front of him. There were red-brown lines and shapes on the floor, candles, a man—was that  _ blood?  _ Was this guy _ jerking off? _ What the absolute fuck was happening here?

The man sat there, half reclining, in the center of the huge—what was that, a pentagram? Some kind of weird occult shit, anyway—propped up on one hand, his chest heaving as he slowly fisted his cock. He had a long smear of the maybe-blood down the center of his face and body, forehead to dick, but no visible wounds.

He could hardly make himself focus, his mind flitting from detail to detail to detail. What was in those bowls? Whose blood was this? He didn’t see a body. Maybe it wasn’t blood? No… it definitely was. He’d worked his share of homicides; he knew blood when he saw it. Was this a murder scene? Had he stumbled onto some kind of Satanist serial killer? His eyes flicked frantically around the rest of the room—books, hundreds of books on shelves lining the wall, some kind of fucking chemistry set, pieces of wood, more plants—

“Hello, officer,” the man said, and Jesus Christ, his  _ voice _ —it still sounded like it had through the door, doubled, unnatural, male and female laid on top of each other. Was this guy fucking  _ possessed? _

Hux didn’t believe in that shit but he’d grown up a Catholic and his Ma sure did.

There was something wrong with the man’s eyes; Hux couldn’t figure out quite what it was. It was like he was in a badly-taken flash photograph… Oh, _fuck._ _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Hux thought frantically, hysterically, _reflective; they were reflective_. The man’s eyes glowed in the dark from the flashlight beam, like a cat’s. Human eyes weren’t supposed to do that.

Hux stood there, frozen, his world tilting on its axis, unable to move as the man looked at him, his full, shining lips curled into a smile. Then, the smile abruptly slid away and his expression changed, turning into something panicked, something horrified, and he said, “Please, you’ve got to help me.”

The feminine voice riding atop his was gone—this was just this guy’s voice, low and thick but human. He was, however, still jacking off.

“What? How?” Hux choked out, completely out of his depth. “What happened here?”

“I just— I need— it hurts, it goddamn hurts, my spell went wrong and I—I’m gonna die. I know this sounds nuts but I… I need you, fuck, I need you so bad—”

Hux was a great many things, quite a few of them bad, but mostly, he was a cop. He was trained to help citizens in need, and the sheer terror and desperation in the man’s voice overruled his better judgement, which was telling him to get the fuck out of there right now. He took a few steps forward, gun and flashlight dropping. “What do you need me to do?”

“Fuck me. Fuck me, please, I need you, I need it, oh fuck,  _ please— _ ” the man babbled breathlessly, and the shock of it sent Hux’s heart rate through the roof again, an irrational spike of lust accompanying his unthinking terror. A part of him noted, slightly hysterically, that this guy would be hot as hell if he wasn’t covered in fucking  _ blood. _

_ Get ahold of yourself, Hux _ , he thought.  _ This guy doesn’t need your dick, he needs a fucking exorcism. _

No. No, that was stupid. It was just all this freaky shit all over the place making him think that. Demons weren’t real. There had to be some kind of explanation. He was… on drugs, maybe? He’d tried to take acid or some shit to talk to spirits? Wasn’t that the sort of thing these occult types did?

Goddamn this full moon bullshit, tying up all the ambulances with people’s monthly outbreak of crazy. They were never around when you needed one. He had narcan, but that wouldn’t help whatever the hell this was.

“Sir? Hux said, standing just out of reach, gun lowered but still out. “What did you take?”

The man made a distressed sound, and then something about him changed, his body language opening up as he stood, unnaturally graceful, catlike. Jesus, Hux thought, this guy was built. He was fucking massive, not much taller than Hux but damn near twice as wide. His cock—just as huge as the rest of him, Hux noted disconnectedly—swayed obscenely in front of him as he approached.

Two-voiced again, the man said, “What I want. I take what I want. I always have.”

Hux took a step back, raising his gun to point directly at the guy’s chest. “No, you don’t, buddy.”

That must’ve been some kinda powerful shit he’d taken. Acid and ecstasy? Wasn’t that a thing? Half bad trip and half horny? Or maybe it was some bizzare concoction he’d made himself with that equipment over there.

The man stopped advancing when he reached the edge of the rusty-brown circle drawn on the concrete basement floor, peering out at Hux as if through the bars of a cage. Jesus. Hux took another step back, lowering his gun.

“My vessel and I are in agreement,” he—it? they?—no, that was stupid,  _ he _ said. “Fuck us.”

Hux opened his mouth to reply, but he had no idea what to say. He was suddenly, sorely tempted—he checked his watch, and he still had ten minutes before that ambulance was supposed to get here. He’d heard nothing from Unamo about any backup incoming. He could—oh, how he  _ could. _

He could ignore how fucking weird this was once he had his cock in this guy’s ass, he was sure of it. Shit, he’d be so tight, so burning hot inside… It’d feel amazing, that perfect fucking body rocking back on him, all need and desperation. This guy was so wound up on whatever the hell this was that Hux just knew he could make him scream, make him come without so much as a hand on his dick. He was so far gone that he’d let Hux do whatever he wanted. God _ damn  _ but that was hot. 

But no. Why was he even considering this? It was clearly a terrible idea. He still hadn’t established where that blood had come from, and he didn’t have a condom. If this turned out to be a murder scene, he wasn’t going to leave that kind of evidence lying around. And what if the guy fucking died from whatever he’d taken as soon as they were done, or God forbid, before? Then where would Hux be? Hux might not be an especially good man, but he was nothing if not practical.

“Sir?” Hux tried, his purpose renewed now that he’d dealt with that little bout of temptation. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Kylo,” the guy said, his voice back to normal, except how it was thick with what Hux now knew was pleasure and need. “Kylo Ren.”

That was a weird name, but fine, whatever, this was clearly a weird guy. “Okay, Kylo, can you tell me what happened here?” 

“No time! Just, I’m begging you, she’s going to eat me alive if you don’t, please—”

“You know I can’t do that, I—” Hux told him, trying for a soothing voice, but broke off when Kylo crumpled to his knees with a moan. He was torn between worry and a desire to unzip his fly and shove his dick in this guy’s conveniently placed mouth. Christ, what was wrong with him? After a second, he managed, “Are you alright, Kylo?” 

“No,” Kylo panted, his  _ (fucking gorgeous) _ chest heaving as he jacked himself hard and quick like he was about to get off. “Oh, fuck, no, I’m not, I’m not okay, please,  _ please—” _

Hux could feel his resolve starting to waver already. It couldn’t stand (the resolve, that was, the other relevant parts of him were standing just fine at the moment) in the face of the rapid, filthy  _ schlick-schlick _ of Kylo’s hand over his cock, the way he was so wet he was nearly dripping with it, his knuckles glistening slickly in the candlelight. The soft desperate little grunts coming out of his mouth, like he was right on the edge but couldn’t quite push himself over. Hux had never seen anyone put on a show for him quite like this—all the weird occult shit should have made it less sexy, but it really just didn’t.

Kylo made a wretched keening noise and his hand fell still, his shoulders sagging. He sobbed once, a sound of pure frustration that went straight to Hux’s dick. Then he looked up at Hux for a moment, teary-eyed, red-cheeked, his expression the very picture of misery—that probably shouldn’t have been as hot as it was—before it went slack and empty.

Hux recoiled, his lust turning to fear, to anticipation of what was coming.  _ Who _ was coming.

Was he really starting to believe Kylo about what was happening here?

Kylo stood and laughed his horrible, doubled laugh, the sound of it making Hux flinch instinctively, and then he said in that twofold voice, “I don’t much care one way or the other—either I get a servant or a nice meal—but my vessel would very much enjoy it if you gave him what he needed. I do so want him to be happy, since he went to all this trouble to summon me. And as for me, well, I love a man in uniform.”

Hux bit his lip, and then, without quite believing he was going so far as to engage with what was probably just a figment of this Kylo guy’s bad trip, said, “Prove to me you’re real. Promise me you’ll let him go.”

The demon stared at him, Kylo’s nostrils flaring, his brows knitting and mouth pulling into an irritated frown. “I’m not here for your amusement. I don’t do parlor tricks.”

“It’s not for my amusement. Come on, just give me something to work with, here.”

Kylo’s eyes rolled, and his lips said, “Oh, very well. Humans are so stupid these days.”

With that, she raised Kylo’s hand, fingers spread, and the flames of the candles all suddenly shot up, burning bright enough to fully illuminate the room, making Hux wince. The demon said, “Satisfied?”

Well, he supposed that could be faked, but together with everything else, it seemed unlikely. He felt like he ought to be more shaken by this revelation than he was, but then, he’d always been good at keeping his head in a crisis. He nodded and told him-her-them, “Yes.”

“Good,” she purred, that doubled voice rolling uncomfortably down Hux’s spine, like warm honey mixed with crushed bone shards. “Come here and help me then, officer.”

Hux hesitated. “Can you… I want to speak to him again.”

Kylo’s lips twisted into an exaggerated pout, then he staggered, blinking rapidly as the alien presence receded. He turned those big brown eyes on Hux again and whispered, “You said you would, now  _ please _ …”

“Just wait one more second,” Hux told him, his stomach twisting in anticipation and anxiety. This was clearly a  _ terrible _ decision. He was risking his job and both of their lives, going out on the furthest possible limb. Demons and magic… Really. But he couldn’t just ignore the evidence before his eyes, the possibility that Kylo might die without this. Also, he didn’t want to. It wasn’t like he ran into attractive naked men literally begging for his cock every day. 

So, he unclipped his radio from his belt and spoke into it. “Unamo, this is Hux. It’s all clear here, just a misunderstanding. Backup and medical assistance are not required.”

“Understood, Detective Sergeant,” Unamo said.

Feeling a bit like he was having some kind of out-of-body experience, Hux stuck the radio back on his belt and stepped inside the circle. He thought it might hurt, but he felt nothing, no resistance, no frisson of electricity.

The moment he was through, Kylo’s hands were on him, fever-hot even through his clothes, ripping at his shirt in his haste to get it untucked and open, muttering “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” while he worked clumsily at Hux’s buttons, one or two of them going flying. 

He moaned in relief when he managed to get his hands on Hux’s skin, sliding his hands up under the back of Hux’s shirt and pressing them together, chest to magnificent chest. Jesus, but this guy was big, broad shoulders and a broad chest and  _ huge _ fucking hands, one at the small of Hux’s back, crushing them together, the other more than spanning the distance between his shoulder blades. His skin was slick with sweat and fever-hot, taut and glistening over a truly impressive amount of muscle, firm and perfect under Hux’s hands as they roamed his back, his sides, his hips, his ass.

Hux let his head fall back, having to work to even breathe, overheated and overwhelmed. Kylo wound himself around him like a constrictor, arms too tight, trapping him, mouthing his way up Hux’s neck with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses like he was about to eat him alive. Hux could feel the wet head of Kylo’s cock catching against the fabric of his uniform pants as Kylo rocked his hips—he was so hard, so needy.

Hux loved it. God, he fucking adored it—nothing did it for him like seeing his lovers wound up like this, desperate for his cock. He’d been called cruel more than once for the way he teased them, light touches and careful kisses until they begged him for it. Even then, he never gave in quickly. The way Kylo was pawing at him, frantic and uncoordinated, his hips working, practically humping the leg Hux had thrust between his thighs… It made Hux so hard he couldn’t think. He felt hazy and hot, like he’d fallen under the same influence as Kylo. Who knew, maybe he had.

He grabbed Kylo by the back of his stringy, sweat-damp hair and hauled his head up, kissing him open-mouthed and devouring. Kylo whined against his lips and kissed back, all enthusiasm and no coordination. The angle was wall wrong, Kylo’s teeth clacking against his, the shock of it sending hot sparks of want down Hux’s spine. Kylo’s mouth was messy, too wet, but Hux didn’t mind it as he licked at Kylo’s tongue, the roof of his mouth, the backs of his teeth. He wanted more, chasing the taste of him. Fuck, it was amazing, like the sweets he used to nick from the church bake-sale—not like the cookies themselves but the  _ feeling, _ the  _ concept _ of having something you weren’t supposed to have. 

Hux had always loved that feeling, and he’d never grown out of sneaking his hand into the cookie jar.

He wondered if Kylo tasted this good everywhere, if his whole body had the sweetness of forbidden fruit, and just like that, he knew he had to find out, had to hear the sounds Kylo would make with Hux’s tongue in his ass. Just a little, and then he’d give him what he really needed. He pulled back from the kiss and whispered, “Get on your hands and knees.”

Kylo didn’t seem to understand, looking at him blankly, his eyes half-lidded and pupils impossibly huge, his bruised mouth open and panting as he rutted against Hux’s thigh. He was too far gone for words, utterly mindless with lust as he smeared pre-come all over Hux’s uniform. It was the hottest goddamn thing Hux had ever seen.

Well, if words wouldn’t work… Hux gripped Kylo’s shoulders and physically turned him around, pleased when Kylo just let himself be manhandled, his massive form sweetly pliant under Hux’s hands. He pushed down and Kylo seemed to get the message, sinking to his knees and then shifting to all-fours. Perfect. 

Hux knelt behind him, palming the curves of his ass before taking it in both hands and spreading him open, exposing him—

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Hux groaned, his cock throbbing at the sight of Kylo’s hole already wet with some kind of oil, twitching as Hux’s hands exposed it to the air.

He had to, he just  _ had to _ —Hux bent, still holding Kylo open, and licked a long stripe up the crack of his ass from taint to tailbone. It made him cry out, a loud, harsh  _ “Ah!” _ that sounded like it had been ripped straight from his chest. Hux immediately wanted to hear it again.

He circled the tip of his tongue along Kylo’s rim, toying with the delicate, crinkled skin, and then pushed it inside, groaning at the feel of him, the sound almost drowned out by Kylo’s hoarse moan. Slick muscle clung to his tongue, silky and perfect and fuck, so good, his hole was so  _ good _ —he couldn’t believe he was going to get his dick in there, that warm, dark space. It was already a little soft, a little loose, fucked open on his own fingers, slippery with some nasty-tasting oil that was weirdly familiar, but that Hux couldn’t quite place.

He moaned against Kylo’s skin, pressing a palm to the front of his pants, trying to soothe the ache in his dick as he fucked Kylo with his tongue, lapping at his insides, breathing in the scent of him, warm and dark and musky, impossibly erotic, tinged with a scent so familiar, like balsam...

_ That’s _ what it was! It was the same damn oil he’d had his head anointed with during innumerable Masses growing up—this guy had the fucking  _ chrism _ up his  _ ass— _ God, that was hot. Blasphemous, entirely sacrilegious, but so fucking hot. This sinner, this witch, rolling his hips back against Hux’s face, slick and wet and ready for Hux’s cock with spit and holy oil, needy and illicit and just waiting to be consumed, like the fucking apple or pomegranate or whatever the hell fruit Eve had taken a bite out of made flesh. Sin and temptation personified.

Hux had never been especially good at resisting temptation. He straightened, kneeling upright, opening his fly with shaking hands as Kylo whined unhappily at the loss of his tongue, twisting to look back at him beseechingly as he drew his cock from his underwear. He reached for the bowl of oil sitting on the intersection of two dark lines drawn on the floor, dipping his fingers in the perfumed olive oil and slicking his cock with it, thrilling at how fucking unholy this all was.

It had once been a teenage ambition of his to fuck on the altar at St. Mary’s, but this was so much better.

He wiped the excess oil off on Kylo’s ass and lined himself up, sinking inside smooth and easy and so fucking good. He was so hot inside, almost scalding, almost painful, hellfire and damnation swallowing him up to the root, slick and soft and perfectly tight,  _ Jesus _ , so fucking tight around the head of his dick where he pressed in too deep for Kylo’s fingers to have reached.

He paused there for a moment, his hips flush against Kylo’s gorgeous ass, hands on his waist, slumped forward, head bowed as he tried to breathe past how good this felt. Kylo’s little hitching ah-ah-ahs were really not helping, so close to being whimpers, so soft and needy and perfect, just like the way Kylo’s body shuddered around his dick.

But he could only wait for a moment, no matter how hard he tried. Kylo felt too good, he had to fuck him, he had to—he withdrew, a sweet, sparking drag that felt like Kylo didn’t want to let him go, and shoved back in, burying himself in that perfect heat.

He set an unforgiving pace, hard and steady and fucking  _ loud _ as his hips smacked against Kylo’s ass, leaning over him as he tried to get the angle just right, listening for the moment when Kylo’s low, hungry moans turned to shouts; harsh, honest sounds that Hux took pride in tearing out of him. 

Normally, Hux was a talker, spewing filth and endearments in equal measure, the urge to babble growing stronger the closer he got to coming, but this time, he couldn’t quite manage it, couldn’t pull himself together enough to form words. Kylo felt so good—so hot, so tight, so wet—that he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come because this gorgeous fucking half-possessed witch was rolling his hips back, greedy, needy, eager, and far too much for Hux to take. 

Hux fell still for a minute just to watch the way Kylo fucked himself, staring down at the place where their bodies joined, watching himself disappear into Kylo’s hole as he rocked his hips back, hard, using Hux like he was his favorite toy, chasing his own satisfaction. There was something profoundly unselfconscious about him like this, something uninhibited, like he’d never learned the meaning of the word ‘shame.’

Hux loved it, feeling like laughing from the sheer delight of it, feeling drunk off the arch of Kylo’s back and the way his hair bounced with every motion, the patterns his own fingers made where they pressed into Kylo’s hips. He wanted more, closer, wanted to make Kylo come, wanted to feel him clench around his cock, wanted to watch him shudder and shake while he finally got what he had been so long denied by the demon’s magic. 

He folded himself down over Kylo’s back, the two of them fucking like dogs, hungry and hard, stripped of their higher faculties by the pleasure of one another’s bodies. Hux brought a hand up and clumsily swept Kylo’s sweat-damp hair off to one side so he could kiss and bite at the back of his neck, sinking his teeth in as he rode him, Kylo’s skin dragging salty against his lips. His hips snapped hard against Kylo’s and each time they came together it was harder to pull away, sweat-sticky skin clinging as he chased his orgasm, wanting it, needing it, needing to spill inside that gorgeous body, to fill Kylo with his come.

He could feel the muscles of Kylo’s back shifting where they pressed up against his chest, so wonderfully alive, so wonderfully animal, and he wanted more, wanted to get him off, wanted to feel him lose it completely. 

He had a hand wrapped around Kylo’s chest and he swept it down his taut belly to wrap around his cock, finding it thick and hard and ridged with veins, swollen full and dripping wet against his palm, sliding through his fist. Kylo whined deliriously, thrusting into Hux’s grip and back onto his cock indiscriminately, wrecking what rhythm they still had, jerking and gasping in Hux’s arms.

He came like something out of a porno film, a breathy escalation of cries culminating in a long, lovely wail, his hips snapping and stuttering against Hux’s, his cock shoving into his grip as it spurted thick, slippery fluid over Hux’s palm, dripping onto the floor, spattering in the center of the circle and coating Hux’s fingers.

So good, all of him hot and slick, against Hux’s chest and belly, between his fingers and palm, clenching around his cock. Hux pressed his face to the back of Kylo’s neck, breathing in the scent of him, sweat and sex and candle smoke, ozone and jasmine and blood. He didn’t want to come yet, wanted to make this last, to draw out this impossible, incredible feeling, but he couldn’t; fuck, he couldn’t, he was going to come, he was going to—

He bit down on Kylo’s shoulder, snarling as he emptied himself into Kylo’s body, arms wrapped around his chest, holding him as close as he could get while his hips jerked, fucking his come deep inside of him, filling him. He pictured it disjointedly, images flashing hot and near-random behind his eyes—he wanted Kylo dripping with it like a cup full to the brim, like a stream overflowing its banks. He wanted to see thick white drops of it spilling out around his cock, too much for Kylo to contain, a part of Hux inside him, his seed buried there, planted in the warm, dark earth—

It felt like it went on forever, coursing over his skin in great shuddering waves, so good it hurt, so good he couldn’t breathe, pleasure that went all the way down to shake his soul. He was trapped there, in that moment, the space between heartbeats spun out into eternity. The pressure of Kylo’s body around him was crushing and intolerable, smothering him like a thousand layers of wet velvet. It hurt but he didn’t mind it, the pain sharp but muffled, fuzzy and distant, like the jaws of some night-creature tearing at his belly while he looked on, anesthetized and enjoying the feel of its fur against his skin.

Distantly, he wondered if he was going to die.

And then it was over, the pressure lifting, the electric, painful tension rushing out of him all at once. His whole body went limp as if he were a puppet with its strings cut, and he collapsed against Kylo entirely, a sudden deadweight that bore them both down to the floor.

Hux gasped against Kylo’s skin, utterly shaken. His breath puffed hot and humid around his face as he came down, trying to kick his brain into gear and failing. The feeling was familiar, the same heavy brain fog that came after an all-night stakeout, after too many days on a case with too little rest. Exhaustion. He felt too hot and too cold at the same time, feverish chills running over his skin, his head aching with a sudden, overwhelming need for sleep. Also, he was  _ starving. _

This all struck him as somehow significant, but he was too tired to make sense of it.  He closed his eyes, resting there against this strange stranger’s back until he felt the other man stir. He wasn’t normally one to fall asleep right after sex even if he’d done it in a bed, but right now he’d be more than happy to just pass out right here, on top of some weirdo on a cold basement floor.

“Hey,” Kylo said, his voice low and soft and rough, not a trace of that other voice left in it, though of course that didn’t mean anything.

“Hey,” Hux replied muzzily, shifting to try and take some of his weight off Kylo.  “Are you… good?”

“Mm,” Kylo said. “Yeah, I think so. For now, at least. Are you okay?”

“Yeah… ‘M tired,” Hux murmured plaintively, nearly dozing against Kylo’s back. After processing for a moment, he added. “For now?”

Kylo sighed. “I dunno if this is a permanent thing, or if it was a one-off. And sorry about that, I think I sucked your energy out.”

“I… have no idea what to say to that,” Hux admitted. “I didn’t believe in all… this until today. I need to… go.”

“No, you need to sleep. C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

Hux groaned and forced himself up to his knees, pulling out as carefully as he could while his eyes kept trying to close on him. 

Kylo got shakily to his feet and held out a hand, hauling him up when Hux took it and slinging an arm around his waist. Together, they made for the stairs.

“Come on, Officer…” Kylo began, then stopped, peering at the name patch on Hux’s uniform. “Hux. Let’s get you some rest.”

“Tha’s Detective Sergeant Hux,” Hux muttered, but allowed himself to be half-led, half-dragged up the stairs and onto Kylo’s battered blue couch.

Hux knew he should drag himself out to his patrol car, come up with some excuse for his absence and his disreputable state on the way back to the precinct, but he was so, so tired. Just for a moment, he told himself, he’d close his eyes just for a moment…

  
  



	3. What the Night Gives (Epilogue)

A little while later, after Kylo had showered and dressed in his favorite sweatpants and an ancient, holey Black Sabbath t-shirt, he sat in his armchair with Hux’s uniform shirt in his lap, carefully sewing the buttons back on. He’d felt a bit bad about divesting the man of his clothing while he was unconscious, but then, Hux had taken advantage of a citizen in an altered mental state while on the job, so he didn’t feel  _ too _ bad. Kylo was glad for Hux’s lack of moral fortitude, of course, as it had certainly saved his life, but that didn’t mean he had to approve of it.

Kylo snorted softly, shaking his head. Who the hell was he to talk? Hux was a creep and probably a corrupt cop, but Kylo was a killer, a kinslayer, and had, very recently, soul-bound himself to one of the oldest and most powerful demons around. 

He wasn’t even sure if he was, technically speaking, still human. He could feel Lilith’s presence in the back of his mind, coiled and waiting. He’d been prepared to pay whatever price was asked, but this… This was not what he’d expected. The more he thought about it, the less confident he was that this thing, this energy deficit problem was going to be a one-off. His suspicion was that Lilith hadn’t so much given him power as she’d given him the ability to dig deeper into his own store of psychic energy, to tap his reserves past his ordinary limits. Normally, that was a great way to kill yourself, but if you had some way to replenish those reserves faster than normal…

He’d become almost like a vampire, preying on the energies of other living beings to feed his own power. Probably. He didn’t really know, because he was an idiot who’d let himself be utterly bespelled by a powerful supernatural presence. He couldn’t believe he’d folded so easily, his wits so scattered by lust and fear that he’d just agreed to whatever she asked without any understanding of the terms of their deal. If he’d known what he was calling up with that spell…

There was no use going down that road, Kylo knew. If-onlies would eat you alive if you let them. It was just tiring, that was all, sitting here in the wake of yet another colossal fuck-up. Kylo “well, that didn’t help as much as I thought it would” Ren, that’s what he ought to call himself. 

He sighed, mentally shoving his self-pity and self-recrimination away as best he could, trying for a sort of calm acceptance that he’d never been especially good at reaching. It came more easily than usual, his mind quieting as he refocused on his task. 

All there was to do, as ever, was try to pick up the pieces and move forward the best he could. Right now, that meant finishing his repairs to Hux’s poor abused uniform. The pants were a mess, flakes of dried goat’s blood on the shins and smears of oil and come staining the front.

He pulled his little household-magicks wand from the armchair pocket where he kept it, beside the TV remote, and pointed it a large, dark puddle of oil that had soaked completely into the fabric. The small spell was familiar, one he’d done a thousand times since Uncle Luke had taught it to a ten-year-old Ben Solo with grass stains on his knees. He could cast it in his sleep, or while his mind was on other things, like now. Still pondering his potential future as some kind of incubus thing, he muttered the incantation and flicked his wand at the spot on Hux’s trousers, letting the barest flicker of his power out to remove the stain.

A feeling like being scrubbed violently rushed over Kylo’s skin and left him sitting there, blinking in shock. He looked down at Hux’s trousers in his hands, finding them completely, brilliantly clean, which was puzzling, as the spell should have only removed the one stain it was aimed directly at. Kylo’s skin tingled, squeaky clean. The cat hair on the arm of the chair had disappeared, and the smear of orange chip-dust on his sweats that he hadn’t yet got around to cleaning was now gone. 

His simple little cleaning charm had come out completely overpowered. Magick was a terribly inefficient way to do large scale housework—he should have felt noticeably drained from a cleaning spell of that magnitude, yet he didn’t.

Kylo smiled. The price of his new power was high, but maybe just this once, it would turn out to be worth it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! I'm curious, would you be interested in seeing more of this AU? I kind of want to see these two solve a magical crime together, and I'm trying to decide whether that would be a good use of my time. Drop me a line and let me know!


End file.
